


Take The Edge Off

by Sonamae



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Energon, Gen, It's robot blood, Sparring, Violence, dirty tricks, i mean i guess, two losers in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonamae/pseuds/Sonamae
Summary: Wing and Deadlock spar, Dai Atlas is a tired parent, and their medic needs a vacation.





	

The training arena floor was empty save the two of them, but the stands above were full and loud with anticipation. Wing hovered just a few peds off the ground as Deadlock walked toward the center circle and picked at his claws, delight rippling off his field unchecked and unguarded. Deadlock had wanted something to ‘take the edge off,’ so Wing had suggested they spar. He’d known this wasn’t what Deadlock had meant in the slightest, but frustrating the mech was far too much fun. 

Skepticism evident, Deadlock had snorted but agreed.

No weapons, only fists, those had been their terms. Wing would have easily wiped the floor with him in sword play, so that had been out. Laser Light Pistols were out of the question simply because, while harmless, Deadlock was _ruthless_ with them. His aim was almost unnaturally beautiful, and Wing could only hit once every twelve or so times. _If_ he was lucky enough to even aim within a foot of the target.

So hand to hand was suggested and agreed upon by both, and somehow word had gotten _around_. Wing felt a flutter in his chassi as his peds finally touched the sand, fire warming and crackling grains into glass as his thrusters cooled beneath his feet. This was excitement in it’s purest form, thrill laid liquid on an open platform that someone could sink into. He felt too light, too heavy, everything all at once with a laser sharp focus that was blooming anew with every step Deadlock took toward him.

When they met in the center, Deadlock turned to look at the catcalling crowds and spectators in the stands above them, his thumb jerking toward them. “I take it that’s normal for you?” He asked. Wing was startled by the way he said it so casually. Not ‘your mecha,’ or ‘your people,’ just ‘you.’

“Is it wrong to be excited about harmless fun?” Wing asked, swallowing.

“No.” Deadlock shrugged and looked back at Wing. “I just didn’t expect such a… Decepticon like reaction from a bunch of neutrals.” There was a grin there, hidden behind that passive defiance. Wing couldn’t help but laugh, shifting his weight from ped to ped as he relaxed into a stance.

“I never knew excitement was something only a Decepticon could take part in.” He said it as a tease, a soft jeering taunt to nudge Deadlock into action.

He didn’t take the bait, instead he relaxed further into the sand and shook out his fingers. “It is when it’s organized like a mob.” That was a rebuttal taunt, and as he finished there was a sly smirk that twisted Deadlock’s lips unnaturally. “Come on fly boy, come at me. Show me what you _deviants_ are made of.” He crooked the fingers on one hand toward his chest, and Wing felt his plating ripple.

“We are _not_ deviants.” Wing knew it was a barb to throw him off balance, but he couldn’t keep himself from staying quiet.

“Prove it then.” Deadlock’s voice was soft, still no stance taken.

“I’m not going to come at you unless I know you’re ready for it.” Wing twirled a finger at Deadlock’s relaxed posture. “That’s not ready. That’s you just standing there.” Deadlock snorted and patted his thighs.

“Not all of us grew up all disciplined and slag. I learned to fight in the dirt, that doesn’t come with a fancy stance. That comes with a knee jerk reaction to keep yourself alive, this is my stance.” Deadlock rolled both his shoulders.

“You were a Decepticon, don’t they teach you how to fight there?” Wing asked as he took a few steps to the side. Each step was countered by Deadlock’s nonchalant movements to keep Wing in his sight.

“They teach you how to hold a blaster, hit with the remains of a blaster, clean a blaster, make a blaster, so on so forth.” Deadlock sighed again, this time seemingly bored. “If I put my arms up all frilly like yours, will you hit me?”

“My arms are not frilly,” Wing said with a delighted laugh, “but yes.”

Deadlock rolled his optics and lifted both arms in a mockery of Wing’s own fighting stance. “Come at me then.” It was the sweetest invitation Wing had ever been given.

His body pushed forward without thinking, feet kicking off the sand and forming a small cloud behind him. Deadlock’s body stiffened, his arms drooping from their attempted stance as he put all his weight onto his right leg and used it as an anchor to spin away from Wing’s jab. Wing’s back was exposed, Deadlock half in his vision as he regained his footing and shot an arm out to block a blow that would have hit hard against his spinal strut.

The two kicked away from one another to steady themselves.

“That was a dirty blow, that really could have hurt me.” Wing commented, watching the way Deadlock’s eyes flicked about his chassi.

“You’ve got a decent medic, you’d have been fine.”

Wing scoffed and took the initiative again, feigning a jab once again to Drift’s side, but curving last minute to strike hard at his opposite shoulder instead. The blow landed, but was lessened when Deadlock leaned into it and used the pressure to bring his hands up and attempt to box Wing around the audials. Years of training pushed him out of range just in time, and his breath caught. That move could have deafened a grounder, but flight frames could withstand plenty of pressure due to high altitude flights.

No punches pulled indeed.

Wing swung his leg around to turn, but felt a hand grab his shoulder and jerk him off balance. The only thing that kept him upright was the sharp, splitting jab to his hip that had him gasping. Deadlock jerked back as he pulled away, fingers coming back dripping with energon.

“You cut me to protoform!” Wing grabbed at his hip. “I thought we agreed no weapons!”

“I didn’t use a weapon.” Deadlock held up his hand, fingers waving and claws glinting in the light. “They’re still apart of me, they still count.”

Glaring, Wing charged at Deadlock and feigned to his left, only to catch Deadlock off guard and kick hard at his right thigh with his thruster full blast.

Deadlock fell back with a scream, patting at his thigh before he dropped to the sand.

“They’re still apart of me, they still count.” Wing spat, reveling in his own petulance.

“Point taken!” Deadlock gasped, hands tight around his burnt thigh. “Primus, did you have to full blast it? All I did was knick you!”

Wing held up his now energon soaked fist after he pressed it to his hip. “Just knicked me?” He held a hand over his hip again. “You better not have cut a line.”

Deadlock was getting back to his feet, thigh a dark smear of blackened char. “You’ll live.” He muttered under his breath. Wing rolled his eyes.

“I thought Decepticons handled pain better than that. So much for that big bad reputation you’re always worried about ruining, am I right?” He was so busy gloating that he neglected to notice Deadlock running at him full speed. By the time he realized he was in danger it was too late, and Deadlock had punched him in the throat.

And that was when Dai Atlas stormed in.

\--

“He started it.” Wing croaked after his voice box had been turned back online.

“No, I finished it.” Deadlock corrected, still rubbing at the audial fin that Dai Atlas had dragged him here by. Their medic sighed and rubbed her temples, resigned to live a life of mediation between these two terrible newsparks.

“You disconnected my voice box!” Wing snapped, voice still hoarse.

“You let your guard down.” Dai Atlas snapped from the doorway. “You’re a Knight of Crystal City, not some youngling with something to prove.” He sighed and looked forlornly at the medic. “How’s the cut on his hip?”

“Deep.” The medic said with a smirk.

“Good, stitch it up and put him on light duty, how’s Deadlock’s thigh?”

Deadlock coughed. “Burnt.”

“I’ve scraped off the worst of it, thankfully it didn’t burn through the armor plating, but it was a close call to protoform. He’ll have some lingering bruising and will walk a little stiffly for a few days, but it’ll heal.” She turned and crossed her arms. “Can they get out of my poor unfortunate sight after the stitches?”

Deadlock snorted and tried to cover it with another cough, but Wing pouted.

“We aren’t that bad.” He muttered, pushing off the berth.

“We’re worse.” Deadlock corrected, hand outstretched to help Wing onto the slab.

“Yes, out of your sight and out of the training grounds for at least a month. Let the Light help me if I catch you two at this again.” Dai Atlas narrowed his eyes at them both before turning heel and stomping out of the room. Deadlock just looked fondly over at Wing, who was staring resolutely at the ceiling while the medic pulled out her patch kit.

“You’ll be fine.” Deadlock patted the hand still held in his own, but Wing just frowned some more.


End file.
